


I'm Good

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.





	I'm Good

Summertime was always my favorite.

Of course, South Dakota has unforgiving winters that last way into spring some years, and fall that usually ends early with a blizzard. Summer’s where all of my good memories live. I married Karen in the summer. Why she ever married me, I’ll never understand. But we loved each other somethin’ fierce, and I always considered myself damn lucky to have her. I mean, after all- I was never anything but a grease monkey with a salvage yard, and the house was smack-dab in the middle of all that. But she always seemed content.

She was always on me for workin’ too hard. She’d come out to the shop, yellin’ my name until I stopped pounding around and looked up. There she’d be, hands on her hips, that stern look on her face. “Bobby Singer, I did not just spend two hours in the kitchen for this food to sit on the table and get cold. Now get to the house, it’s supper time.” I could never help but smile at her, scowling at me like an angry kitten, and then she’d march off to the house. She always got so mad at me when I’d come up behind her and swat her on the butt. “Damn it, Bobby, if you got grease on my dress, I swear…” and I’d just laugh, and give her a kiss, and she never stayed mad very long. That fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh baked biscuits, and pie for dessert… I can almost taste it.

Then there’s the summer John Winchester left his boys with me. Not quite the whole summer, but close enough. That was the summer I started to think of them as my boys.

John loved those kids. He did. But he was a driven man, determined to find and kill what took his Mary away from him and the boys. There were just things he had to do that kids couldn’t be around to witness. So in his own way, he was trying to protect them.

I’ll never forget the day they walked in. Sammy was still just a kid, ten years old or so, all arms and legs and awkward smiles. And Dean… No fourteen-year-old should look that burdened, that worn. I decided, right then and there, that while the boys were here- they were gonna be kids.

Dean even tried to argue with me at first. “But Dad said…” I never even let him finish his sentence.

“Look. While you’re here, you follow my rules. And I say you two are gonna get the hell out of this house and go have some fun. Take the poles, go fishing. Or just go exploring. Now get outta here, and don’t let me see your faces again until supper.” And when Dean looked at me, still hesitant, I added, “Don’t worry, kid. As far as your Dad will know, you did exactly what he said while he was gone. Okay?”

Dean took Sam with him everywhere. They came home one day, excited about exploring the abandoned farm down the road, making their own little hideaway in the old barn. They went fishing in the creek, even caught enough for a meal a couple of times. Sometimes I’d look out the window and see the boys just lying in the grass and watching the clouds.

Sure, I asked Dean to help me overhaul an engine or two, give me a hand doing some body work, like his face didn’t light up at the suggestion. Dean was right at home under a hood, or beneath a car, lost himself completely in the challenge of figuring out why it was doing what it was doing. There was pure joy in his eyes at the sound of that broken-down Plymouth sputtering to life when he turned the key. That thing ran just as smooth as when it was new. And when I clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder, told him, “Good job, son” - that kid’s face just glowed.

Sam asked a lot of questions. I answered him as well as I knew how, leaving out all the details that I could, tried to cushion the blow. I tiptoed around the big stuff, and taught him what I could about the lore. Sam never asked his questions in front of Dean. I didn’t know at the time if that was Sam sparing himself an ass-chewing, or sparing his big brother the worry. Knowing those two as well as I do now, I know it was the latter.

Yeah, Dean put on a good act. He liked to tell stories about John’s hunts, about the few he’d been there for, like it was all some big adventure. Like watching his dad battle some monster out of every kid’s nightmares, helping patch up John’s injuries, didn’t scare the hell out of him. He’d put on like he’d take Sam apart if he didn’t toe the line, but Dean would never let anything hurt Sam if he could throw himself in front of it first. I could read him right from the start, see the heart underneath all that tough guy bullshit, the part Dean didn’t want anyone to see.

Like the deer hunting incident. I took the boys out in the woods one day. Dean had a bead on a beauty, a big doe, but he wouldn’t pull the trigger. I watched that kid chew at his lip, refusing to look me in the eye, as he claimed he didn’t have a shot.

“She bolted right when I was gonna pull the trigger, Bobby. I didn’t have a shot, okay?” The kid was embarrassed, and half-pissed off, and I put my hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze to let him know it was okay.

“Hey, kid, no big deal. Do you know how many deer I’ve actually shot at and missed? Hell, happens to all of us.”

And the night I overheard the boys talking after they’d crawled into bed for the night. I could hear Sam, sounded like he was crying. Dean’s voice was quiet, but I heard every word.

“Sammy, Dad’s fine. He’ll be back. Promise. Sometimes he just gets busy, he forgets how long he’s been gone. But he’ll be back.”

“But what if one of those monsters he hunts… what if something killed him?”

Dean snorted. “Shit, Sam. No monster’s gonna kill Dad. He’s the best hunter there is. Just ask Bobby tomorrow, I bet he’ll tell you the same thing. Dad’ll be back as soon as he can, Sammy. Just stop worrying, okay?”

Yeah. That was a good summer.

And then there were the hunting trips with Rufus, that son of a bitch. “Bobby, that is not how you kill a rugaru. I oughta know, I’ve killed enough of ‘em.”

“Right. Like you’ve ever even seen one. You gotta burn ‘em, dumbass.”

“Fine, we’ll try it your way. But when you find out I’m right, you owe me a bottle of the good stuff.”

“And when I find out you’re wrong?”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

We never did anything but argue, but damned if he wasn’t the best friend I ever had.

I guess my Heaven don’t look like much to most people. But I got some Johnny Cash on the old radio, my comfy chair, a glass of Jack, and an eternity to spend on my memories. I’m good.


End file.
